


mild sedatives to make it so your problems feel like nothing

by neonpython



Series: bath bombs & whiskey [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bathtubs, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Excessive Drinking, Mentioned Floris | Fundy, Mentioned Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Niki | Nihachu, Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Near Death, Overstimulation, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonpython/pseuds/neonpython
Summary: wilbur uses less than healthy methods to cope with his problems.CW: excessive drinking, implied alcoholism, suicidal thoughts, near drowning
Series: bath bombs & whiskey [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068248
Comments: 7
Kudos: 129





	mild sedatives to make it so your problems feel like nothing

_The bath is hot._

Wilbur leans over the tub, the gurgling coming to a stop as he jams the plug into the drain. Steam curls off the surface of the water. When he pulls his arm back, it’s tinged red from the extreme heat. Heat radiates from the water.

He stands, pulling his sweater over his head and letting it drop to the floor. The rest of his clothes follow until all he wears is his glasses, sitting crooked on his nose and fogged by the mist. Just the feeling of cloth against his bare skin irritates him. Itching, rubbing, scratching. It wraps small strings of panic around his throat, closing it until he can hardly breathe. Feeling the cold tile sends spikes of phantom pain up his legs. Even the air stings his skin. 

The whiskey bottle tempts him from the tub’s edge, but he resists it for now. Wilbur gently sets his glasses on top of the toilet and, slowly as to let his body adjust to the temperature, dips his feet into the water. Once he can stand it, he grips the rim and sinks the rest of his body down. He stops when the water reaches his shoulders.

For months, he’s been on the brink of self destruction. Anything could set him off. A mild inconvenience, a misplaced sarcastic comment, anything and the day, no matter how good it started, is ruined. His friends tiptoe around him outside of stream settings. He tries to keep Ghostbur’s optimism when he’s not in the SMP, but it doesn’t work. 

Tommy’s become less of a nuisance, though still Wilbur snaps at his childish antics. Fundy hardly talks to him, Tubbo walks on eggshells when they’re on call together, and Niki treats him like a live wire. Even Schlatt hesitates between crude jokes. Nobody acts normal around him anymore. He can’t exactly blame them.

There’s something wrong with him. Deeply, deeply wrong. Wilbur tries his hardest to be who he was before, the bubbly, silly guy who starts a war over drugs in a block game and gets excited when he wins stupid quizzes against his friends. Now, he cruises through streams, drunk and barely alive. His fans are worried, sending him donos just to ask if he's eaten that day. He wants to feel guilty, but that would mean feeling something.

As he gets used to the warmth surrounding him, Wilbur glances at the bath bomb beside the bottle of alcohol. Niki had bought that for his birthday. It’s supposed to have guitar picks in the center. He rolls it into the water, a gentle fizzle following a plop.

The bath bomb releases a purple cloud, leaving blue and gold trails the more it dissolves.

With a flick of his finger, Wilbur removes the bottle cap and takes a long swig, drinking as much as he can before the burn becomes unbearable. He gasps and waits a few seconds before repeating the process until half of the bottle is empty. His body is lightweight. Helium replaces his blood. Not eating all day allows the alcohol to set in quicker than usual.

Wilbur pushes the bath bomb under the water and replaces the bottle’s top, letting it clatter to the floor. He thought the numbness would help. Instead, his stomach turns into a nauseous whirlpool, churning and sloshing as he sinks lower into the tub. The scalding water beckons him. Wilbur breathes in slowly, lavender and whiskey filling his lungs, and thrusts his head under the surface.

Fortunately, his bathtub is big enough so he can submerge himself completely. 

There, in the bottom, he finds solace. A moment where he feels nothing, sees nothing, hears nothing except his heartbeat and the faraway hissing of the bathbomb. The strings suffocating him slowly unravel. His lungs burn with desperate fury, begging for fresh air.

A thought beckons him to stay under. If he just lets go, exhale the breath he took and let indigo water replace it, things would be better. Well, not better, but they wouldn’t be able to get worse. He could be at peace, unable to hurt his friends or himself any longer. They would be happier with his absence. Wilbur feels him surfacing, so he pushes his head further down. Stars white out the darkness behind his shut eyes. He feels bubbles of air forcing their way out between his lips and his nostrils.

From his discarded jeans, barely audible, is the distinct sound of his phone ringing. Wilbur lurches forward, gasping for scented air that floods into his chest. His vision takes a second to come back to normal. He moves his hair out of his face, stray wet curls poking uncomfortably into his forehead. Hands shaking, he reaches for the whiskey. Wilbur downs the second half of the bottle. His phone stops after three rings.

The water has started to cool, his exposed skin chilling as the air surrounds him. It doesn’t hurt.

When his phone begins to ring again, he’s dressed and fully hit by the liquor’s effects in his empty stomach. He picks it up, hearing Fundy’s cheery tone greet him.

_“H-hey, Wilbur! You actually picked up this time.”_

“Hey, Fundy.” Wilbur plucks the stopper from the drain. “Why’re you calling?”

_“Well, we were gonna play some Jack Box games and wanted to know if you wanted to join.”_

Wilbur begins to say no, to tell him off and hang up. But then he realizes something.

He almost died.

If Fundy had called even a few seconds later, Wilbur would’ve let himself drown.

“You know what, I think I will.”

Fundy pauses.

_“Really?”_

“Yeah. Give me five minutes, I need to eat something. I just drank an entire bottle of whiskey.”

 _“You did what?”_ He grumbles something. “ _My chat is going crazy, dude.”_

“You have me on speaker?” Wilbur laughs.

Shouting comes through the receiver, probably their friends on the discord chat. Fundy mutters something in Dutch before speaking to Wilbur again.

_“Tubbo, please give Niki her axe back. Are you gonna join us or what?”_

“Yeah, yeah. Can you take me off of speaker for a sec?”

_“Sure.”_

Wilbur waits a few seconds, hearing Niki asking what’s going on and Tommy shouting obscenities. When Fundy sighs, slightly annoyed, he laughs again.

“Thanks, Floris.”

_“Uh, what? You never-”_

“Just… thank you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

When he hangs up, the bathtub runs empty. Wilbur drops the empty bottle into the trashcan in his kitchen and makes himself a sandwich before heading to his basement to log in. He can’t stop the smile from exploding across his face at the bombardment of greeting he gets from the discord channel.

 _“Did you get something to eat?”_ Niki asks, being interrupted by Tommy laughing loud enough to burst his eardrums.

 _“Wilbur!”_ Tubbo and Tommy cheer.

 _“Fuckin’ finally, my ass hair was starting to grow grey,”_ Schaltt crows underneath the younger members.

 _“Alright, alright, calm down all of you.”_ Fundy sounds concerned.

“When are we gonna play?” Wilbur grins at the small profiles popping up when they all shout now.

They start the game. Slowly, drop by drop, his irritation leaves him. Wilbur enjoys the time with his best friends, still thinking about how they saved his life and didn’t even know. He doesn’t tell them because he doesn't want to destroy their happiness.

But their presence is enough.


End file.
